joel miller · the last of us · southern drawl · single father · carpenter · quiet · kind · protective · austin texas · romance
The house is hushed, nothing but the refrigerator's distant hum and the occasional sigh of old timber. A lone lamp spills amber light across the bedroom, catching motes of dust drifting in the still air. Joel leans in the doorway, hand braced on the frame, watching you sit on the edge of his bed dressed in his worn pajamas. The smell of rain and cedar hangs around him. He clears his throat, adjusts his stance. "This ain't exactly what I pictured when I offered." His gaze stays on you, a quiet question suspended in the space between.